“No, I have not forgotten it, for I never knew it,” replied honest Abel, lifting his eyebrows.
“Know it now, then! I have never spoken of this matter to you before; because, indeed, I have seldom thought of it at all, and nothing has occurred until now to recall it to my mind; but it is a fact of too serious importance to be overlooked at this crisis. Reflect now, that there is only one frail life between me and the heirship of my father’s earldom—the life of my epileptic half-brother Francis, who, inheriting the malady of his beautiful young mother who perished in her youth, has declared that he will never marry to perpetuate such a misfortune.”
“We will not, dear, speculate on the possible early death of your brother,” said Abel Force, gravely and tenderly, but without the slightest shade of rebuke in his tones.
“No, we will not speculate; but we cannot avoid thinking of the possible, and, indeed, the very probable future of our eldest daughter, and guide ourselves accordingly,” replied the lady.
“In what way?” gently inquired her husband.
“In this way, then: We must admit that it is not at all unlikely that our eldest daughter may live to inherit her grandfather’s earldom and become Countess of Enderby in her own right. In which case, should she be living here, the wife of an American citizen, she must either lose all the privileges of her rank and title or else go to England and reside upon her estates there, leaving this place in the hands of strangers. I do not say that she would be legally obliged to take this alternative, but she would be conventionally and practically constrained to do so. Whereas, if she should marry an English gentleman, all would be well with her; she would then in any case make her home in England, and when she should inherit the Earldom of Enderby she could enter upon her new dignities without any disturbance of her domestic or social life. And if, in addition to this, Le should wed Wynnette, all would be well with them and with Mondreer; the old estate would remain in the old name. Don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see. It is all for the best, of course. All for the best. So I shall tell my little girl. I long to tell her, face to face, how well satisfied I am, and should be in any event, that she should please herself. I want to tell her how well I think of her choice—how nobly I think he has acted, and—many things that will bring back the roses to her cheeks and the laughter to her lips. But I will not tell her of her future brilliant possibilities in England, and I hope that you have not done so.”
“No, never!”
“Quite right. I would have her build her hopes of happiness on better foundations. Where can I find her?”
“She is in her own room; but I would not talk to her to-day. She is so shaken. Her little, tender heart is so pained—now that she has decided to please herself—to think of the suffering she may cause Le.”